On Writing And Words Seasons Poems | On Writing And Words Poems About Seasons

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This pledge that l,Ntando, make today serves
as my guideline that I shall follow
happily, ungrudgingly and tirelessly
for the sake of our love life.
Indeed l am well aware of the fact that
the beauty of this pledge does not only lie
in word alone but in action as well.
For that reason in every season
I shall show steadfast commitment
to the implementation of this pledge
with a great deal of astuteness.
I therefore commit myself to be your
devoted and delivering husband for
all the years l shall live with you
on this earth.
I shall treat you with the love and care
you deserve as my wife.
Indeed l shall treat you with
the distinction and dignity
that is befitting of the queen of my heart.
That body, that bone, that breath
shall be my mine to treasure,
for sure;
a dearness to promote and protect
for dear life…and love!
I shall stand by and with you in all the
situations of our life.
If the situation demands that we sail,
sail we shall together.
If the situation demands that we
climb,
climb we shall together.
I know very well what l am getting into:
I am getting into a marriage that is
overflowing with blessings.
This marriage- with our mutual
commitment-
will stand the test of time.
I know very well what I am getting into:
I am getting into a relationship that
brims over with a transforming power
of love.
This marriage-with our
mutual commitment –
will transform naivety into maturity
troubles into challenges
pretence into practice
pride into progress
bachelorship into companionship.
I pledge to be your steward and partner
for all times.
I shall value the consultations
and decisions that we make as
husband and wife.
As head of the family I shall do nothing
to derail our love train for anything else
least of all for personal and selfish reasons.
Now and forever
I am your lawful and loving husband…
This pledge that l, Nothando, make today serves
as my guideline that I shall follow
happily, ungrudgingly and tirelessly
for the sake of our love life.
Indeed I am well aware of the fact that
the beauty of this pledge does not only
lie in pronouncements but in practice
as well.
For this reason every season
I shall demonstrate untiring love
and loyalty to you;
a love and a loyalty that is a living
embodiment of our marriage vows.
I therefore commit myself to be your
honouring, supportive and loving wife
for all the years l shall live with you.
I shall treat you with the love and care
that you deserve as my husband.
Indeed I shall treat you with
the dignity and nobility that is befitting
of the king of my heart.
On my mind it is always fresh
that I am the flesh of your flesh.
Green or grown
I am the bone of your bone.
I know very well what I am getting into:
I am getting into a relationship that
elevates me into a kingdom of wifehood.
I shall endevour to put my family first
with all the rights, obligations
and privileges that come with wifehood.
I shall endevour to wipe off and ward off
loneliness and lostness from our relationship,
seeking nothing but your companionship;
banking on your stewardship,
sinking together any hardship.
Since you are mine
I shall not do anything else to undermine
our relationship for personal
or egotistical
reasons.
Now and forever
I am your lawful and loving wife…

Arm over arm, I glide my body through
warm, glistening water near the beach. No
harm can come here; Sun’s my lucky
charm; my skin and hair are soaking in its glow!
When I go back to my towel, I sink
ten toes into the sand, warm summer bliss.
Then I grab my bag, and I pull out
pen and paper, best tools for a day just like this!
For Rick Parise's Lento Poetry Contest

This misty rain dampens my pen,
so I envision a small glen
with a cottage of ancient stone
that for one day is mine alone...
then lock myself within its den.
I nestle deep, a sheltered wren,
The pane weeps again and again,
But every stanza will atone
this misty rain.
Oh, this modern scribe has read when
springtime showers would enlighten
dark inked quills as drummed roofs would moan
and showers meant a verse to hone...
Poe and I, we have both ridden
this misty rain.
*Inspired by Francine's contest, but not entered.

Before spring came, in late February
to the blooming and jolly hills
I ran, breathing heavily and frantically,
touching the perfumed blossoms
of a solitary, old cherry tree;
and underneath it I sat writing poetry
that hadn't a perfect rhyme and beat!
Weren't my skills marred by imperfections?
Canaries and red-breasted robins
flew down and rested on my outstretched legs;
perusing my lines to spot their names,
and when they did, they flapped their wings in gladness!
I could have imagined their joyful words,.
if only they had acquired the gift of speech,
and deeper in their thoughts I would have reached:
to dispel the myth that they had no feelings...
After my short poem was completed,
I reached for my harmonica to play my favorite classic tune;
and being surprised by the paleness of the fading moon,
I dedicated that happy melody to her not to let her despair:
by waving my hand to make her farewell less sad, while I whispered,
" Silent moon, eternal companion of every poet,
what's beyond the realm of this universe?...
Tell us more of those invisible suns and planets! "
Before spring came to the dormant valley,
the mountains' peaks allowed the sun to melt their snows,
to create gushing torrents to feed its water to the dry and cracked soil,
which needed rain instead of harmful frost;
and I drank the freshest water and washed my sweaty face,
while fighting off the bees' stubborn rivalry!
That spring has come again to dress herself with incredible splendor,
and this discontent and wishful heart desires nothing more than being there!
My theme is: Happiness In Childhood

There are only so many shades of turning leaves,
so many berry-stained skies to describe
before the hues merge and burn through.
Only so many times I can wax poetic
on the waxed-wood sheen of horse chestnuts,
only so many sun-dappled apple depictions.
My lexicon trawls fall's lush colour spectrum
hoping to harvest new autumn-rich words.

< I have dipped my pen in the sublime, it's my gift to you
Now use it wisely and write about some captioned caught views
thus that of an snow-capped mountain with an eagle that soars
or white sandy beaches where ribbed tides rolls back to it's shores
maybe stars and moon dance reflecting off stilled bay's port
in ones head you must determine choice of words to now sort
from beautiful to just pleasure does not hit it's mark
beneath recant memory that caused the ignited spark
observer of denial you can not destroy ones voice
within pens stroke there comes a poet with another choice
seize the day and come bow to the chosen word of the day
dont let an overpowering object just get away
Written By Katherine Stella 6/26/11
Entry For A Rambling Poet's
Writing In The Sublime

I plurm and glorp with every breath
My existence defies and deifies death
I splurp and glomph amongst your days
Indistinguishable from mud and haze
I slig and slorg, a dark breamy blaze
with unctuous vim I sleam through your days
and go about my large gorptious ways
Slimy, I slawl in shades of grey
leaving glossful drippings to mark my way
and make your life gang aft agley
as I spream and slorl in spurious ways
and glurm and gleep with hideous gaze
I sleam and glort in vorptious dark ways
‘Til you come undone
And my sporphing’s won!
My job’s complete – I’ve sprunked your flaze
My job is done, I’ve gronked your days!

Long days
Of August sun
Where nature blinks and shrinks
The dying grass,yellowed in sleep-
Held fast
as
Oat grass
Tinted old gold
Shimmers on tall green stems;
On a clear warm light of evening sun-
Back-lit
the
Brimstone
Awakens,then
From each flower hovers
On the drying wind of the breeze-
Sun-lit.

It’s summertime
and Janis wails through the speakers.
I sit at my picnic table,
papers scattered,
and I chase perfect words
like I used to chase butterflies.
My kids splash through the scene,
armed with Super Soakers.
Their antics threaten to jar
the few words I managed
to land on the page.
They jump in the pool -
giggles come up for air
in a million bubbles.
I trade my pen
for a popsicle,
join them poolside,
and succumb to
easy living and
the sweltering rhythms of
“SUMMERTIME.”

The murky rolling waves subject
to the whims of the February's wind,
far above the secluded lighthouse;
the roaming aircrafts vanish through thick clouds,
leaving behind a trail of hazardous vapors...
but the geese and seagulls can't continue their existence!
And still the sea offers them its promise,
a distant shore untouched by man...
by his greedy ways and incompassion,
causing the extinction of many species;
my reflection is based on fact :
we can't survive without them!
The stylish wild birds engage,
as if striken by a sudden rage,
in their frantic, daily dance over the marina,
as I listen the melancholic lyrics of " Nessun Dorma "...
the exquisite area of Puccini,
which comes alive through the extraordinary voice of Bocelli!
At four the fog thickens and shrouds the shoreline,
the brass lampposts light up with reluctance...
to shy away the presence of any ghost;
I, in transitive joy, hide my treasure beneath the tides,
hoping someone will find it and remember my work...
long after my thoughts will be no longer alive!

I want to muse—
without
wearing eye-glasses, but
urge my pen for words that guide
to sea of love. Sun makes
her lips fiery, we sip
the day,
swallow it, childishly! Hmm, Nitz’s heart
pumps out breath, holding our souls
like victims for ransom. Ah,
etching our aliases in the sudor like wine
on the lustful spread of green, I
look for the cheerful shadow
of sky, as we dress our minds
with chrysanthemum of a summer day.

i see it before me
i have not stepped towards, nor walked along its direction
it is clearly there for me to do so
the decision
can stray left or right of the way I go
and all I know
is that it starts
before me

I walk in the pathetic pages of a used tired book
Crushed by the heavy leaves that lied to me
The older I become, the angrier I see
orange, red, yellow peeling
Panting, painting, pelting poems
against a soggy canvas and sagging
lines like tired feet held together with
sad gray shoes
We're the oldest ones here
The doctor is so young
The lawyer is a child
The children are all grown
My grandbaby is going to college
Still when I brushed my hair today
and sashayed by you
a lilt to my tongue and a
swagger in my lips
I curved a kiss to you and
blew an ocean of windtossed
leaves
I scooted under them
like a silly child
Smelling the earth
Rooting like a piglet
When did Tubman push her
passengers along
Putting nails in trees to indicate
the turn in the fog
the fork in the road
If she could work into
the autumn and beyond
Why kant I rite the lanterns
of my life?
And in autumn
You don't need permission
To fall and land in earthy
grandeur
Staggering, solemn, orange
Reborn like a felled tree

I thank you Lord for life,
health,and strength.
I pray for the haters,
Who think they have me bent.
I love you Lord with all of my,
Heart, my mind, and my soul.
I know that even if I strive,
To live right and allow you
To rule my life, then all of
My battles for me you'll fight
And win. I will then see
You and I'll walk the paved
Streets of gold in Heaven.
I pray that each day,
I help someone to come,
Your way. I love you Lord,
To express it there's not
Enough to say.

Yes, I remember…
I’ve a sonnet of us, rhyming
silently, across the vast blue sky
in waiting, eagerly
for sweet November rain.
We knew, we both
have the need to feel
what’s good to be touched…
the truth was, by the way,
I enjoyed the beat.
We danced, whilst the noon birds warbled,
with unchained melodies, as the passing wind
gently rippled the field’s golden hair, till we
settled, ourselves, into a naked ritual, exaggerating much
the vers libre it was leading us, before
finally, we wrestled the night, with an adieu kiss.
Yes, I remember…
I’ve a sonnet of us, for
sweet November rain to cleanse and freshen
the wrinkles we left on a golden field, of tares,
…for its next transients!

The light of my life is the tide of the tight
Which half of witchcraft is blight to unbright?
Paper of papal intent in the tent
Fare of the fate to the wittingly went
Knives are nice, but butter is better
A flick of the wrist and a twist of the fetter
Burn through the binder and break down the bricks
The deluge of delusion that stickles and sticks
Ruptured erruptions of singing to sin
Enraptured in rapture by fiddling the fin
Won't will your wont until the wight's won
Sorrowful song of the son of the sun
Lice come less when Winter won't wrest
Sum of the Summer rests in the West
Oughn't the Autumn to singe from the binge
Swing with the Spring of the tingling tinge
Donning the dawn of the bleeding night's blight
Moon dies at noon at the frightening fight
Dust of the dusk falls to slickening breath
Bright light of deep night dreams quickening death.

In June everything was festive and green,
a patch of deep blue couldn't be seen...
the struggling sun was kept off, with dire,
by a dense foilage of emerald;
and the robins competed with the blue-jays
to harmonize a new song with notes
that even a great composer couldn't write...
Oh, how I loved that sweet sound!
Auburn trees in Fall showed a dull color
andulated by the softest wind,
which wasn't as perfumed as that of spring,
and its sadness was compensated by a beauty,
which inspired a poet and a composer
to write it with a tender melancholy;
and I jotted down the impressive images
of a peaceful Nature that revealed its loveliness!
The freight trains scurred through the defoliating forest,
I found a massive rock and laid my body to rest;
and finally those struggling sun-rays
broke through to warm my forehead quickly:
so glad to have seen, with awe and curiousity,
the forest's beautiful and swift creatures
storing away food for those gloomy winter's days!...
Oh, how happy I felt to have been the wanderer of the forest!

youd have to see it to believe it
but im making compton famous
a medusa mask
tribal
leave a candle burning
and a wall of clocks and mirrors
and a wedding day gift i painted
so you walk to your car
or into your apartment
and my window do you see
the blinds always drawn shut
but this artist game is open season for criminals like me
there is a candle burning beside the book
with exactly that title
a kite and a flag of rainbows
and several mirrors to haunt your soul
kept safe by the hands of time
in case you have shattered one
but the grinch of the ghetto christmas is reminding one and all to behold
the cracks that keep us cold in the winter
the pots and the pans
sure it seems messy
but there is such a method to the madness
a pet nmaed rock
and no cats are allowed
but when you wlak by or drive by this view of the closed curtain of lights
and delights
we're onto the mayor of the surprise holiday now
remember loose lipped sunken shppied

At the arrival of the winter storm, stretching for a mile,
a bockout occurred in a rural town famed for its exquisite wine;
it became very dark as the lights went out in every house...
I felt scarier than a hopeless prisoner in bondage,
but an idea struck me while I stepped on a fleeing mouse.
And while the moonbeams filtered in invitingly, and the crickets sang me
their awkward melody...I couldn't live in darkness and feel safe!
The willows of the reef seemed phantoms moving towards me...
I had a red candle never being used and its glow could have safeguarded me;
at least, I would have had some light shedding on me to keep them away from me!
Didn't poets of long ago write by dim candlelight? Weren't they often taken by rage?
They used quills to make their work even harder writing in medieval style!
I wasn't expecting a return to the past...it could have caused a disastrous fire...
if I had fallen asleep! But for Heaven's sake, I lived for passion, not waiting to flee!
My sonnet had to be written throughout that time for my inspiration to survive!
Entered in Russell Sivey's contest,
" Candlelight "

Since childhood my vivid and alluring aspirations
painted my rainbows with different colors,
not the ones I was after and truly adored...
who has ever heard of a teenager being bored?
Anytime I saw a train leave the station with its smooth rhythm,
I wanted to be that conductor who could never fall asleep,
and at every stop he would look carefully before closing the doors...
then, laid-back, watch the changing landscape and whistle his tunes!
If imagination had not been there to tackle my reflective tendencies
that were, indeed, rooted in all aspects of the present wilderness,
I wouldn't have cultivated this passion and turn it into a realistic dream...
which allowed inspiration to enter the subconsciousness of this thinker's realm!
The fast-paced postman delivering mail to mailboxes seldom locked, thrilled me;
he looked so sharp and handsome greeting folks, and it would have been an honor
to chat with them, listening to their suggestions and helping them thoroughly...
I visualized myself as such, and even practiced it daily in front of large mirror!
If tons of ideas hadn't fed the urge to jot down details with ebullient imagery,
unless I wasn't aware of their poignant meaning and powerful message,
I wouldn't have let fantasy create an extraordinary dreamer out of someone so ordinary...
to adorn dullness with my cheerfulness and change winter to spring!

(for Hart Crane)
How completely the silence
encloses our life.
We will talk and crowd the room
with words like blown-in insulation.
The beveled moon cuts us
with its edge something not considered
not thought of before.
The treason of a moment
never pleases in retrospect.
And there is no season
for banality just frailty
for there must be living:
autumn's benediction
the pale strawberries of spring
a rainbow trout in winter lake.
There is that and the silence
so nearly said telling nothing
and everything of presence a dull
sheen concealing the stone the dark
wish the plum Hart the plum.

I had the traits of a gorgeous child,
different in looks and behavior,
only mother understood his tremor...
when night fell and he ran inside.
An adorable child expressing curiosity,
touching everything in his path,
and those hands seemed full of creativity...
when visions lured his interest.
I hold this photograph to reminisce the grace
of that tiny toddler beginning his first, memorable race...
while his mom stretched her protective and loving arms,
ready to hug him and reward him with tons of smiles.
I had the traits of a gorgeous child,
obsorbing the vivid images and colors of the seasonal scenes...
I'd describe in my writings, to feel the essence of unreal dreams;
Oh, was I aware of my final stride?

I'm so glad that Fall is here.
It's the greatest time of the year.
I'm looking forward to Thanksgiving because I love pumpkin pie.
If someone says that Fall sucks, he or she is telling a lie.
One by one, the leaves are falling from the trees.
Autumn has finally arrived and I sure am pleased.